


Immobility

by PocketProtector



Series: Life in the Shadows [3]
Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon), Tangled (2010)
Genre: Angst, Cass is still technically a prisoner, Cass still has the moonstone, Coma, Companion fic to Shadows, Did tons of research for this, Fluff, Frustration, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, More one-shots might be added, Self-Loathing, Some Humor, Trauma, Trust me I'm a doctor (not really)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:02:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29712747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PocketProtector/pseuds/PocketProtector
Summary: Cassandra survived her almost-execution-- but at a great cost.Still imprisoned and now paralyzed from the neck down, she must depend completely on shaky relations and keep them from finding out her rocky road to recovery might not lead to the destination they expect.-Companion one-shot collection for Shadows
Relationships: Captain of Corona's Guard & Cassandra (Disney), Cassandra & Rapunzel (Disney: Tangled), Eugene Fitzherbert | Flynn Rider/Rapunzel
Series: Life in the Shadows [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1876285
Comments: 32
Kudos: 30





	1. Climbing Up the Walls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooo everyone! I hope you like this next installment to the "Life in the Shadows" series. As I said in the summary, five of these are already written (finished them back in November) and as y'all wait for the final chapter of "Shadows" I figured now would be a good time to share them! They were meant to be uploaded POST-Shadows, but I think they'll work just fine now too.   
> Ironically, I'm currently injured as well so Cass and I can go through this together XD
> 
> Enjoy! :D

**One**

* * *

“This is completely necessary, Cass, trust me,” Rapunzel said, “You’ll feel _so_ much better after it’s up.”

Over three suffocating months had passed since the hanging and Cassandra had at last been freed of her neck brace and set on the path to greater rest and recovery. One move to a new suite and a week later, Rapunzel descended.

Only one week of peace to relish the relief. Granted, Cass had asked the Princess for the help this time but she hadn’t asked for or even expected… _this._

She really should’ve known better. Cass blamed the haze of the pain tonics entirely.

All she could do was hope that the painted tarp the rainbow-streaked Princess was nailing to the ceiling didn’t decide to descend on her as well.

Cass closed her eyes and focused on what the medic had preached at every visit: Relaxing. If the tarp, the Princess, or the very ceiling fell there was nothing she could do about it. If the floor fell from beneath her… if she fell… there was nothing she could do about that either.

Cass unclenched her jaw and forced the thought away.

Relaxing. She was relaxing.

The ceiling wasn’t falling and she wasn’t falling. Everything was safe and not for her to concern herself with. The chances of any of those happening now were slim to—

Rapunzel squeaked and hopped down from her stool, letting the unsecured corner of the tarp sag and scrape a thin line down the wall. “Sorry! I guess part of it’s not dry yet!”

A stream of apologies continued to flow from the Princess as she dug through the box she’d brought. It hadn’t carried the painted tarp and Cassandra couldn’t help but worry what monstrosities it contained; The box was barely small enough to pass through the door. But she wouldn’t ask about the box. She only had enough strength—and medic’s coaching— for one question at a time.

Like a fish that’d spent too much time on the shore, Cass gathered as much air as she could to ask, “Why’re you…” Too quiet. Rapunzel hadn’t turned. She had to breathe, push through the shaking, hold out under the weight, “…apologizing?”

The rainbow Princess spun to the bed at that.

Success.

“I’m apologizing because I made the painting to brighten your day, not dribble all over you.” Rapunzel freed a cloth as peach and stained as her dress from the box’s depths and rushed to sit in the chair at Cass’ bedside.

Cassandra gathered air to ask what she was talking about. It wasn’t necessary. She got her answer when Rapunzel lifted her pale arm from the bed. Five paint drops—two green, one blue, and two brown— as big as coins polka-dotted her skin.

Cass abandoned her question but watched in wonder as Rapunzel set to wiping her clean.

Rapunzel glanced up from her work. “Didn’t you feel it?”

A breath and strong, unbothered, she said, “No.” It came out a wheezing whisper.

“Can you feel this?”

The Princess continued to support her arm and blot the dots away with all the care you’d show a newborn but that was only what she could see. How heavy or how light her strokes were, what the shiny material of the cloth felt like gliding through the paint on her skin, what temperature Rapunzel’s hands were as she held her… it was all a mystery. If she wasn’t watching, she wouldn’t have known she even possessed an arm at all.

Cass studied it, pale and lifeless. Her hands and fingers bent inwards. Unmovable. Unfeeling. A wax work. She wondered if she’d ever get used to viewing her own self as a stranger.

“No,” Cass gathered more air while looking over the rest of herself. Away from the Princess’ concerned eyes. “Can’t feel… anything… below my… neck.”

Rapunzel asked, “Does the medic know?”

“He knew… before me.”

A blueberry sludge of paint transferred to Rapunzel’s hands as she laid Cass’ arm back at her side and wrung the cloth.

“Might return… he said. Know…” Cass breathed, “In a few weeks.”

“That’s wonderful, Cass!”

“Big ‘might’.”

Rapunzel waved her off. “Don’t worry about that right now. Just rest and we’ll watch everything return to normal.”

Cass shut her eyes. “Ever the optimist.”

“Ever the—” Rapunzel paused and Cass opened her eyes in time for the tip of her nose to be tapped. “—pessimist.”

Rapunzel picked up a cup of water from the nightstand and bent the reed-like green thing called a “straw”—thank you Varian—to Cass’ lips for the dozenth time that hour.

Cass accepted a sip through the gadget but declined another. Needing Rapunzel to empty her bedpan on only the third visit wasn’t going to happen. Not being able to stop her from hearing it fill was bad enough. “I’m… realistic, Raps.”

“Then why are you making things out to be so hopeless?” Rapunzel returned to fighting the tarp but this time to take it down. “Yes, right now you can’t move or feel. But you’re alive, Cassandra. That’s reality. Any ifs and maybes about what the future _might_ hold is not reality.”

The painting of a tall grass plain on a diamond of a day stole Cassandra’s attention. It might’ve been Rapunzel’s best work yet.

Four nearly-life-sized chestnut horses held still in their charge across the canvas though their fine dark hair and the wisping grass beneath their hooves defied the unspoken rule. Though the stallions held still, she could tell from the gleam in their eyes and the strength in their bones that their flight to freedom would not be derailed.

Before Rapunzel brought the tarp down, Cassandra almost asked the horses to take her with them.

Rapunzel reiterated her point, “You’re alive. And you’re going to stay that way. That’s _good_.”

“Is it?”

Rapunzel sunk back into her seat at Cass’ whisper. The light straining from the window across the hall into her room betrayed her dad’s eavesdropping around the corner.

“I’m—" Aching. Paralyzed. A traitor. Terror to the kingdom. A burden to her dad. There was too much to choose from. She decided not to voice any. “I’m existing. Can’t… do anything. All I can do… is lay here,” _And struggle to speak,_ “And remember.”

Rapunzel asked, “What do you remember?”

“Falling. The floor being there… and then… not. Dad screaming. The rope tightening and…” Cass sucked in an extra breath. “And the jolt.”

The pillow under her head was Cass’ only anchor. There was more that she didn’t have the air to voice. She remembered everything… The iciness of the morning despite the uninhibited sun. The tolling town clock. Owl saying goodbye. The blindfold knotted behind her head entwined with some of her hairs. Despite the blindfold, the shift, and her chains, she’d felt so bare up there before the world living in her last moments. Maybe it’d only been her lack of socks or shoes.

“I remember being terrified,” Rapunzel whispered. She’d taken to smoothing the triple layers of blankets covering Cass, for her own comfort. “I’d been in the ruins of your suite, pleading on my knees with my dad to spare you; that it’d all been a setup. It’d been like talking to the Corona Wall for forty hours. When he called for it to stop, my relief gave way to terror again and worse that time because you were already—"

Cassandra could still hear the thud of that trap door. The rushing whine of the limited slack of the rope. The clink of her chains as she sucked in what she thought to be her last breath.

“I fell with you,” Rapunzel continued. The Princess took a breath long enough for the both of them. A watery smile was flashed her way. “I can never thank Eugene enough for saving you.”

 _But for what?_ Cassandra blinked up at the dark ceiling, blinked away the moisture in her eyes and didn’t voice the question. She asked instead, “Is the painting… dry yet?”

It took a few moments of watching the ceiling before the chair creaked telling her Rapunzel was up to check the tarp.

“Yay, it is!” Rapunzel cheered through a sniffle.

Cass didn’t watch the securing of the painting that time. She did her best to stop listening to trap doors dropping and remembering the tremors in a body she could no longer feel. Nothing was falling today. She wasn’t falling. She wasn’t remembering. She was… relaxing. Simply relaxing.

A cleared throat from the hall had Cass finding Rapunzel had finished nailing up the tarp and was sitting beside her re-organizing her box. Something bleated much like a goat inside. Did she bring a farm?

Cass finally asked, “Do I… want to know…what’s… in there?”

“This is your ‘get-well’ box, so yes,” Rapunzel said before pouting toward the door. A fly-by glance at the black cuffs still encircling Cass’ ankles. “But I guess I’ll have to wait to show them to you until tomorrow. Monty’s asked me to head the first team for the kingdom’s Spring “Hog fest”, but he didn’t give many details. I would’ve declined, of course, but Eugene’s already planning to compete so I couldn’t turn him down. I don’t know why Montgomery can’t host the head team himself since he’s such a crowd favorite. I mean, what’s so hard about catching a greased cute little piglet anyway?”

Cass didn’t want to ruin the surprise of her night—she was working on mending her friendship with the Princess after all—so she bit her lip to keep a smile off her face and just said, “Beats me.”

Rapunzel hefted her box and crossed to the door but spun back around at Cass’ call of her name.

Cass flicked her gaze up to the painting. “This isn’t going to…”

“Surprise you when you least expect it?” A giggle erupted but Rapunzel shook her head. “I know my way around a hammer. It’s not going anywhere until you’re ready for a new one—If you want a new one that is.”

“Thanks.” Cass explored every inch and every sweeping brushstroke of the artwork and found herself starting and re-starting all over again. She didn’t think she’d tire of this one anytime soon.

“Oh, and by the way, Cass; Existing?”

Cassandra reluctantly let her gaze wander away to the Princess.

“I know it’s not all you want right now and I have all the confidence for the both of us that you’ll heal, but for now, it’s enough.” Rapunzel smiled over the top of her box and repeated to both her and the eavesdropper in the hall, “It’s enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See y'all in two days with "From Above"!


	2. From Above

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back for the second piece! :D  
> These one-shots vary in length so I hope the shorter length of this one isn't a disappointment *Crosses fingers*

**Two**

* * *

Floors were a myth. Cassandra believed that to be fact with every fiber of her broken being. Floors were a myth, walls had no bottom, and ceilings were all the world consisted of since her almost-execution.

Ceilings and burning pain.

Day in and day out for the next month the only view Cass had was her bedroom ceiling. It was the sight she first woke up to, the last she saw before she slept, and the only thing in-between. She did have occasional interruptions and blockings of her view thanks to the medic, his assistants, her yawning dad, and the ever-beaming Rapunzel but the ceiling was her constant.

The only brown thing in her room—well other than the stools possibly floating in her bedpan—was free of Rapunzel’s paintings most of the time. Carpets of dirt and cobwebs were the only things to disrupt the brown rafter’s expanse.

Today, however, her ceiling was becoming increasingly blocked from view by something new. The dust had released a secret; a little honeycomb-yellow spider was coming down to greet her. Down and down he plummeted on his hair thin web. She wouldn’t have cared much for the visitor’s descent—if he weren’t descending right over her face.

Her last interaction with such a creature—last year at the dining room window—came to mind and brought her to only one conclusion: The corner spider’s brother had come to take his revenge.

Seemed she wouldn’t be let off the hook for any of her crimes. She deserved it… but didn’t mean she’d accept it. With as much energy as she could muster, Cass blew at the thing.

He wasn’t dissuaded. Didn’t even move a half of a centimeter.

Each joint of the spider’s straw legs could be made out as he repelled closer. The tiny legs crinkling in and out like a claw. _“I’m coming for you,”_ It seemed to snicker.

Scrapes of iron on iron and a pot of what smelled like mutton stew thudded onto a wooden kitchen surface. Her dad would have lunch ready soon.

The spider plummeted another inch and Cass went cross-eyed.

Lunch may not be ready soon enough.

Softer than a butterfly breeze, Cass blew again.

The spider paused and swayed on its web… and dropped further.

Time to call in the cavalry.

“Dad,” Cass rasped.

The spider spun closer and the clamoring in the kitchen continued.

“Dad,” Cass called a little louder, then blew again. Some of her own spit hopped into her eye.

The spider was unaffected. Just another drop and it’d be tickling her nose.

Cassandra wasn’t afraid of bugs, but this close encounter was just _not_ happening. “Dad!”

The pot thudded again but this time along with a number of shattering plates. Thunderous steps and her dad skidded into her room.

Cassandra’s crossed eyes were burning along with the rest of her as she continued to blow, faster and faster, on the encroaching spider that held its course.

 **_Smack!_ **

In a heartbeat, her dad killed the assailant and restored her view of the still brown, still dusty, still boring ceiling. Words of gratitude rose to her lips for the rescue—but they fled when her dad hunched over her footboard, trembling.

“Dad?”

He just continued to shake; his breathing now coming in gasps.

Maybe the spider went down fighting? Maybe it’s bite had been venomous?

“Dad? You okay?” The words were a squeak. She wouldn’t have the breath it’d take to call for the guards outside the suite halls away, even if she hadn’t just been engaged in battle. And the sun was still flooding the hall beyond; It would be hours before the medic’s assistant came. The poison would’ve already spread through his system by then, and she couldn’t do anything. The plethora of anti-venoms she knew weren’t of any blasted use as she couldn’t make any. She would just have to lay there like a downed tree, better yet a hollow purposeless log, and watch him slowly—

Her father stood up, strong and healthy—save for a flushed face and a hand over his mouth. “I’m sorry, honey, I’m fine. I’m just—you were—!”

Cass’ insides switched from a boulder of dread to curdled milk in the instant her dad cut himself off, taken over with the same manner of shaking again. Laughing. He was _laughing_ at her.

“Your eyes—!” He howled, doubled over again, “You were—And the tiny spider—!” The reviving hysterics prevented him from saying another word about it, but he’d said enough.

Cassandra scowled at the rafters above. “My. Hero.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There ya go, a little humor for ya! This wasn't my favorite of the bunch style-wise but I had the idea of the rappelling spider and just had to do it.  
> FrozenWings did a scene similar in her story "A Lot of Little Things" where little Cass was healing from an injury and fought off a bug, if you enjoyed this I think you'll enjoy that even more as I did! 
> 
> *Also* In this one-shot series, I write Cassandra dealing with feelings of uselessness and helplessness, etc. in addition to the guilt and trauma she suffers from in the main story. I do not view people in paraplegic states or with any type of injury, physical or mental, in any of those ways. You are strong and brave warriors (like Cass!) for fighting through the pain and obstacles that come with the wounds every day. You are very important to this world no matter any disability :)
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos and comments! Every one of them are a treasure to me! 
> 
> See ya in a couple days for, "It's Knot Easy"!


	3. It's Knot Easy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all :D I hope you enjoy the third part!
> 
> We're jumping ahead some here! Cassandra has re-gained strength enough to be inclined in bed-with an aid under her back, seriously, I say she's "sitting up" in here but really it's the aid entirely supporting her back and head and she doesn't stay like this ever alone or for long- and able to feel some in her arms and move them a bit!  
> Cassandra and the Medic worked tirelessly for months to get to this point but the joy of this return of mobility is... well... wearing off...

**Three**

* * *

“You’re doing splendidly, Cassandra. Just a few more nice even strokes,” The medic’s assistant—Sarah it might’ve been—said from beside Cass and her bed.

Cass and her bed—that was the dynamic duo. If Cassandra wasn’t currently focusing all of her energy on not dropping the brush in her hands she would’ve frowned at the pairing. She didn’t exist anymore apart from her bed. She was semi-sitting up now—thanks to the cranked wooden aid under her back—but still on the bed. It was part of the new normal she had to accept but it didn’t mean she had to like it.

 _Why_ she was sitting up today was due to her newest activity: Brushing her hair. An activity that was beyond humiliating. Well into her twenty-fifth year of life and Cass was just a novice at the task.

The humiliation wasn’t helped by the fact that she had an audience of three watching her. Mercifully, the only one that had said anything to her since she’d begun the session was Sarah. Her dad stood silent in the doorway with a frown chiseled into his face while wringing a rag against an over-polished spoon. But the person circling their chair in the middle of her rug was the worst. Or rather Rapunzel was _having_ the worst time this session.

Every time the shaking in Cass’ hands grew to earthquake intensity, Rapunzel’s whole being shook.

Every time the brush bristles snagged on a tangle and Cass’ limp grip nearly lost control of it, Rapunzel started forward to catch it.

Cass hadn’t reached the halfway point of the first bottom section of hair when the brush tumbled down onto her lap and Rapunzel squeaked and twisted herself into her long sunny locks so as not to dart to her aid.

“That was excellent,” Sarah said with a smile while dabbing at the sweat on Cass’ brow with a cloth as cloud-like as the ones encompassing her on her bed, “Do you think you could try one more stroke today?”

She didn’t waste energy on a response other than to fumble in picking the brush up again. The unusual bend to her wrists and hands making it even more of a challenge. Cass’ face was burning but she didn’t let her gaze stray from the brush to the others around the room nor would she let the biting words waiting to fly from the tip of her tongue leave.

It was only a matter of trapping… the baby-sized brush… between both of her hands…

Finally!

She stuffed the smooth brown handle between her fingers and allowed herself a cleansing breath.

Now to lift it again.

Cass commanded her elbows to fold and she just had to reach up… and… The brush hit her hair but fell straight back to her lap.

A thud across the room took Cass’ attention away from her failure to see Rapunzel still swirled in her hair, planted firmly on her chair and atop her hands.

Sarah knelt beside Cass and asked, “Would you like to try again?”

The brush was half balanced on Cass and her bed and that was the only thing that she allowed to see the tears line her eyes as she mumbled, “No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your continued support!  
> See you for the fourth one "Memory Lane" in two days! :D


	4. Memory Lane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeereeesss number four!  
> I had way too much fun with this one, hopefully you will too! :D

**Four**

* * *

It was a well-known fact that when comes desperate times, desperate measures must follow. And this was as desperate a time as ever.

Since an hour before sunrise, the Director's daughter, Cassandra, had been in terrible pain. Her body and bedsheets soaked in sweat, groans and moans that didn’t pause for breath, tears and sobs that reared their heads more than once, kind of pain. The medic’s diagnosis had been as helpful as lint that morning.

“She needs distraction,” He’d said with a scowl aimed at the stimulation-bare room. “Lying in the pain with no distraction from it will only make it worse. I’ve given her as much tonic as I dare while I'm in the dark of what's even causing this intense of a flare up. Find something to occupy her mind—And I daresay yours as well.”

The Director began before the front door had fully shut behind the medic gathering everything he could think of in the suite to entertain his daughter. Now fifteen minutes past noon, they’d exhausted all of it: Gardening books, weapons manuals, news records of recent kingdom events—excluding her escape and hanging of course which headed far too many of the papers—, her most read novels, reminiscings, stories he made up, food he made that she only turned down, tucked the new plush Owl up closer to her, and even sang some. The amount of times he was too flat or his voice cracked matched the rate of her moans so he did both of them a favor and didn’t try for a second song.

He’d offered to request the Princess come visit but she’d shot that down instantly.

“I don’t want her to see me like this,” She’d groaned.

He didn’t want to see her like that either. When she hurt he hurt too. It’d been that way since the moment he found her alone in that cabin in the woods decades ago.

Sitting beside Cass for the next hour while she groaned, the Director about made himself bald until it hit. The perfect distraction.

Oh she’d hate it. But that’s why it would work so well.

“I’ll be back in one second, honey,” He said and dashed out of her room to his. He flung open his chests and drawers and smiled at the buttons, shoe laces, and other treasures he found. It was a desperate plan and Cass would no doubt disapprove but it would most certainly work.

* * *

Cassandra had over done it in her sessions. She really had. In her defense it was only two little things: Sit up with minimal assistance and hold a spoon. Babies could do those things. Literal. Infants. But when she tried to do those things for only a few seconds longer than the medic advised, she was landed in a world of pain.

The medic had warned her and chided each time she pushed. And now that she hadn’t listened it wasn’t enough that she had to suffer the consequences in her own body, but he’d uttered the dreaded words: “We’re going to slow things down for a while.” She’d been in too much pain to argue before he’d left to make changes to their regimen.

She didn’t need a new regimen. The previous pace had been slow enough. She could do it. Really. She just needed the chance… And maybe a day to regain muscles and nerves that weren’t screaming at her.

She’d see that the medic changed his mind. Whether she had his approval or not she’d continue to push herself. But today… Today she couldn’t do anything but fray.

Through the rolling pins of pain flattening her muscles Cass groaned and missed her dad coming back in the room. She missed the new presence beside her bed too until his chicken-y voice sang, “Hellooo Cassandra! I don’t know if you remember me, but it is good to see you again!”

Cass turned to be face to face with two golden button eyes, a brown shoelace mustache and pile of hair that toped a grey sock body. The possessor of the hand giving life to the puppet wasn’t visible but she groaned all the same, “Dad, what are you doing?”

The puppet’s mustache flopped as he turned to the door, to the window, and back to her and said, “Dad? Dad? There is no “dad” here, only me, dear friend!”

Fine, she’d play along. What did she have to lose? Another wave of pressure and she moaned, “Friend? We haven’t met before.”

“Oh yes we have! You are Big Cassandra now but I knew you when you were verrrrrrry small Cassandra. You do not remember me?”

“I think I’d remember making friends with a sock.”

“Well you had quite the boo-boo back then too so I understand…” The puppet said, “Allow me to re-introduce myself: It is I, Sir Lacingham! Knight of Shoerona! And I have come in search of a Knightess! Have you seen her?”

A second puppet, nearly twin to Sir Lacingham save for the white feather stuck to the top of her head, rose to the edge of the bed beside him.

Cass rode out another wave and swallowed, feeling the little pool of sweat gathered at the base of her neck spill. She said, “It’s possible. Can you give a description?”

“Oh she’s very beautiful! She has button eyes as gold as a daisy’s heart, skin as fair as an elephant’s behind, and her hair! Ooooh!” The puppet swooned. “Her hair is like an angel’s wing!”

Cass twitched a curved finger to the fair maiden. “I think I know her.”

“You do? Where can I find her? Oh I must find her!” Sir Lacingham said, searching high and low, everywhere but to where she was.

The Knightess pursed her crease-lips and gave Cass the impression that should she have feet, they’d be tapping in impatience. The female puppet disappeared from view only to reappear with a fork in her mouth.

Sir Lacingham shrieked as the fork was jabbed into his hindquarters. But when he turned, sputtering, he gasped and cried, “Knightess! My sole mate!”

While the puppets ran into each other and chattered in their happy reunion, another wave rolled through Cass. A million searing needles accompanied this one. She whimpered.

The puppets went silent and her dad took their place beside her, ready to brush Sir Lacingham through her sweaty bangs.

She covered another whimper by saying, “You’re making it worse.” The smile she fought undermined the truth of that statement.

Her dad smiled and ducked back down to let the puppets reclaim the stage. Now, they were munching on something… it looked like…

Sir Lacingham stopped chewing long enough to cuddle up to the Knightess and tell Cass, “Congratulate us, old friend, we are now married!”

“Congratulations,” Cass smiled, “But, I’m pretty sure rice is supposed to be thrown at you at weddings, not eaten.”

“Is that true?” The puppets gasped, rice clinging to every crevice of their mouths.

“Pretty sure.”

In unison, the newlyweds turned to each other… and spit-flicked the rice with all the gusto of a multi-chamber canon. Each shrieked and fell down like they’d been shot with each successful hit.

Cass chuckled at the silly antics then grimaced and said through another wave, “I guess you made rice for dinner?”

Her dad popped up between the rice covered puppets. “No, actually. Your guess is as good as mine where they got that.”

Her dad watched the puppets out of the corner of his eye sink away and Sir Lacingham said, “I’ll neeeeeverrr tell.”

A snorting laugh bubbled out of Cassandra and for that moment the pain fled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not even Cassandra can resist the awesome comedic power of sock puppets XD 
> 
> Tid bit about moi: I used to have a sock puppet with a yarn mustache and a mini-sombrero from Disney's EPCOT on its head/my knuckles.  
> Señor Sock, I shall treasure you and the memories we made together in my heart always *Classic guitar music swoons*
> 
> Anyone else have/had a sock puppet buddy? If not, WHAT'S STOPPIN YA?? LIVE THE DREAM!!!
> 
> See ya next time for "Dexterity Rarity"!


	5. Dexterity Rarity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ones very short but nice for Cass as she gets a change of scenery! (And yes, she got there by her dad carrying her)

**Five**

* * *

The lumpy lavender sofa in the suite’s sitting room was the stage for Cassandra’s appointment with the Royal medic that cloudy fall day. The objective: Learning to write. The tool: A metal band with two little rings encircling Cass’ hand.

In her opinion, the contraption functioned as an extra skeleton. To begin, the medic had uncurled and threaded her fingers through the rings to lay on platforms and pretend they had the strength to maintain that position all along. This helped her to hold a quill for the first time since the injury.

But by the way Fitzherbert was looking at her from the columned doorway, the gadget might as well have been the Shadow Blade.

“You’re sure you can trust me with this?” Cassandra asked the room. The grey quill, a little thicker than her thumb, was resting in its own little slot in the gadget between her fingers. The feather fanning from the top of it tickled—actually tickled!—her wrist. What a danger this fluffy feather with a point was. Cass might just go power crazed with it at her disposal.

Only the tinkling of silver spoons responded to her question at first. For the past ten minutes, her dad and the Captain hadn’t ceased stirring their hot chocolates. Not once. The idea of drinking the drink hadn’t reached them yet. The nosy oddballs.

The medic was the only exception as he added more paper to the desk-like tray in her lap and said, “Just do your best not to jab anyone with it. But if you do, I will merely celebrate the progress of mobility.”

There was no chance of that happening. As the medic directed Cass in writing her name, she learned two vital things: One, writing now required the use and pressure of both arms. And two, her grade-school penmanship looked like Rapunzel’s calligraphy compared to now.

Squiggles. Her name was not her name it was simply squiggles. And the more times she tried, the worse it got. Somehow.

The medic stopped her once her grunts had turned to groans and grimaces. “You’re doing marvelously, Cassandra, but let’s take a break.”

“Marvelous?” Cass scoffed and willed the sofa cushions to swallow her whole. “Seismographs are smoother than this!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strange ending, I know. Four months and I couldn't come up with anything else. I'm sorry. Constructive criticism welcome as always.
> 
> BUT see ya in two days for my favorite one, "Complications"! :D


	6. Complications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the next part of this collection!  
> This one is a serious one as it deals with a coma situation. This was my favorite one to write for this story as it has great significance to show Cassandra's not out of the woods yet.  
> If you would like to listen to what I wrote this to it is this piano instrumental, "Misericorde" by Lo Mimieux.
> 
> From what I researched for this story and Shadows, history states that most people who sustained a c-4 spinal cord injury in the 18th century did not live long (if they survived the injury at all). The first week is the most dangerous but due to their lack of medical advancement, it was possible that the patient could still pass away at any given moment. This is an excerpt from what I researched on Google--“Before world war II, most people who sustained a spinal cord injury died within weeks of their injury from urinary dysfunction, respiratory infection or bedsores… People who use ventilators are at some increased danger of dying from pneumonia or respiratory infection…”
> 
> Cassandra has made amazing progress by this the seventh month, she's beating the odds by even being alive right now. But relapses happen no matter what type of wound someone is recovering from and our lead is no exception...

**Six**

* * *

“I’m kinda tired from session today,” Cassandra had informed the Director. And in response to his question of concern, “I’m fine. I’m just gonna nap for a bit.”

And he’d let her do just that.

It wasn’t uncommon for his daughter to sleep for a half an hour or an hour following the medic’s visits. Not only was it healthy for her continued healing, but it made perfect sense for her to do so. All the proverbial mountains they were scaling in each visit wore him out enough to want to sleep for a month— and he wasn’t the paralyzed one.

“Alright, I’ll be right out here reading if you need anything,” He’d said in return and left to recline across the way in the sitting room.

And she’d let him.

That’d been over eight hours ago.

“The medic said sleep is good,” The Director murmured as he passed Cass’ room for what had to be the thirtieth time that hour. It was a good thing. It was. Sleeping was healing and healing was most certainly a good thing.

He’d tried to wake her at lunchtime, but he hadn’t had the heart to do more than whisper her name from the doorway. He didn’t have the heart to disturb her—not when her brow was crease-free beneath her bangs and neither a single groan or whimper left her for the first time in months.

Even, deep, soft breaths left her and with that little pouty lip—that she always denied—just barely jutted out… for just a split second she looked to only take up a fraction of the bed. Her hair was black once more and ended just past her tiny waist. No metal cages on her ankles, and the plush owl by the edge of the bed was clutched protectively to her chest… But he shook his head and his daughter at twenty-five not four laid there again. His grin fell but didn’t fade. She was just as precious now… but in far more pain. But she didn’t seem to be at the moment, so he left her in peace. He dined on his beans and spinach alone.

In the hours that followed, he peeked in on her a few hundred more times. But nothing had changed.

Now the thought crossed his mind as he took to reheating the beans for dinner and began cooking beef and peas to go with it that maybe she was only pretending to sleep at this point. She never had been a big fan of peas and even less of a fan of needing help. She was too much like him.

He checked on her again once the beans and peas were steaming away in their respective bowls and the meat was carved.

Nothing. Not even a new wrinkle in the knitted-cloud of a blanket under her hands, not even an unnatural blue hair had shifted out of place.

He called her name once, just above a whisper this time. Still nothing.

He went back to the kitchen workstation and went ahead with portioning everything to their navy-wreathed white china plates. He set his on the table before proceeding to that magical harp contraption and stepping on a peddle. He had no idea how the gadget worked but it’d been growing on him in the past months. He suspected it was for Cass too, though she’d never admit it.

The strings leapt to fill the suite with its springy melody. The golden accents around the space gleamed with a new life.

The music’s volume wasn’t lessened in his daughter’s room but when he reached her bedside she still hadn’t stirred.

With all the delicacy he’d handled his daughter with in the past months, he set the plate and its spoon on her nightstand and lit a stubby candle.

She didn’t stir at the new light. And try as they might, neither the buttered juicy beef, the salted beans, nor the squeaky fresh peas were able to get a response from her either. Not even a fluctuation in her near inaudible breathing.

Her very very shallow breathing… He’d thought it might be the lack of light in the room before but now… he still could barely tell that her chest was even moving.

He dropped to a knee beside the bed and took her limp hand. He let out the breath he’d been holding and a quick prayer when he felt her pulse, not as strong as he’d like but steady. But she still didn’t give any response at his touch.

He stifled the urge to stroke her curls back from her face—still too afraid to touch anything near her injury—and tapped her hand instead. He called her name again.

She remained still, relaxed as a porcelain carving. Not even an eye twitch.

He tried louder, “Cass, it’s dinnertime.”

Nothing.

The harp grew stronger in its chorus but still no reaction. Her breathing remained unchanged and calm—unlike his.

With the pressure— and perhaps pain—of a pinch, he rubbed his knuckle side to side across the back of her hand. “Cassandra, wake up.” With no response, he moved to pressing her nailbeds as he’d seen the medic demonstrate once before. “Cassandra!”

Nothing.

The harp went mute in his ears and all he could hear was the medic telling him weeks ago— down the hall where Cass couldn’t hear— that she was progressing, but with a million complications looming, every moment she was still with them was a miracle. The medic had finished with, “Treasure each moment you have with your daughter. At this point we can only watch and… wait.”

He did treasure the moments, every single one of them. Happy, messy, sad, and in-between. And he wasn’t ready to stop having _more_ to treasure.

“Don’t you leave me, kid,” He choked out through a stifled sob and kissed away the tear that’d splashed onto her hand. He wasn’t ready. He would never be ready to let her go.

She couldn’t go. She _wouldn’t._

He yelled over his shoulder, “Guards! Get the medic!”

* * *

Cassandra remembered telling her dad she was going to take a nap. She remembered his assuring response that he’d be there for her if she needed him. She remembered seeing him sink into that too gold sofa chair with his book on gardening for beginners.

She remembered nothing else then but blissful escape from her constant companion of pain.

What had to be days but might’ve only been seconds later, she felt a warmth surrounding her hand. It was another hand. Strong and calloused, twice the size of her own, and oh so tender—Her dad.

She tried to squeeze back and follow the leading to wake. But her efforts had the opposite effect.

The hand left.

A wave of ice from her fingertips straight through to her soul swept her away.

Deeper…

Deeper…

And deeper under…

* * *

**Four days later…**

From that place she’d been dragged, that wretched, empty, lightless, freezing place where she couldn’t get enough air to say her own name if she’d known it, something hooked her. And pulled her up.

The journey up was far quicker than the descent, but pain she’d forgotten slammed into her so fully she about fought the hook’s pulling.

The hook gave up on her just before she’d breached the surface.

The cold stifled her gasp. She watched with outstretched hands as she began to sink again. Something told her she wouldn’t ever surface if she reached the bottom once more. But she had no control over it. The water had no current to ride. She had no air, no ability to move. Inside and out, she was ice.

She summersaulted through the blue; her feet switched places with her head. She could only watch as the void at the bottom prepared to swallow her once again.

Another hook in the form of a familiar voice latched onto her ankle and reeled her back towards the sparkling surface. She didn’t want to fight this one, she didn’t help it either.

“—hear me, Cassandra?” The voice was saying, “I want you to try to squeeze my hand if you can hear me, Cassandra. Can you do that for me?”

She couldn’t. She was only ice. Was he even talking to her?

The voice hook released her too. She fell a league and summersaulted again.

“—keep that ready for me, her breathing’s…might need to put her back on—”

One.

Two.

Three flips.

The lake surface rippled and shimmered like the most delicate caress of piano keys orchestrated it. She flipped at a less graceful pace.

She sank another league and slowed…

Her form of ice seeped deeper into her core, transforming back to how she’d been in the void. So hollow.

She floated there, watching the light dancing on the surface above but unable to either join or flee. She floated in the blue. A ballerina who’d forgotten her que.

“—airflow compromised… have to put her back on—”

She saw the void again and shut her eyes to meet it.

* * *

**Two days later…**

The void hadn’t swallowed her.

She was compelled to open her eyes again and saw she hovered a mere meter from it. Little black tentacle like tendrils were reaching for her.

She reached in return.

Another voice, a far more familiar voice snagged her ankle again—no, both ankles this time—and yanked her away from the tendrils and back toward the surface with the force of a starved snake.

“Little one, please wake up,” It said.

Several bubbles speared out of her mouth into the lake’s empty blue. _Dad._

She couldn’t take a breath in as she was an iceberg and didn’t possess lungs or gills or anything. That loss of her last bit of air alerted the blue around her to crush her from the inside out.

This time the void itself rose up to pull her back. This would be her last time in the blue.

The tearful voice cried, _“Cassandra!”_

The hooks on her ankles weren’t the things that moved her that time. She turned her back on the void and pulled herself up. With a gasping first lungful of air, she broke through the surface.

Ice faded; she was human once more.

* * *

“Cassandra? Cassandra, can you hear me?” The first familiar voice—the medic—said, “Blink your eyes twice for me if you can or squeeze one of our hands.”

The medic in his famous weathered coat, her teary-eyed dad, an unusually grim-faced Fitzherbert, and two fidgety medical assistants all gathered around and gazing down at her were the first sights Cass was met with when she woke. If she’d been able to, she’d have jumped clear across the room.

With a smile the medic said, “Or open your eyes, that’s even better.”

The entire crowd relaxed with a chorus of sighs but her dad completely melted. His hand remained squeezing hers and the other scrubbed over his tear-streaked face and through his receding hair.

Her dad turned to her with another—more pained— sigh, and searched. Not quite touching her cheek, her hair, her shoulders, seemingly at total war with himself if he could kiss her or where he could touch her or if the risk was worth crushing her in a hug.

The medic was already bombarding her with a boatload of questions of how she felt, if there was any pain and where. His cool wrinkled fingers remained on the pulse point in her wrist while he glanced between her and his silver pocket watch.

Fitzherbert retreated to lean back against the wall beside the King’s decree, some teasing comment preparing to leave his smirking lips.

Cass pushed past the pain rampaging through her… everything… and breathed to the crowd, “What, was I snoring?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are now at the end of the pre-written one-shots. I have one more for certain that I'll be uploading once its written--hopefully in two days time as all the other ones have been--and then I have a couple more ideas I'm debating about writing out for this or just squeezing it into the last chapter of Shadows. 
> 
> As I work on those, does anyone have any ideas for Cass' recovery they'd like to see added in here (this can include other characters)? I can't promise I can take the requests as my health and inspiration as of late are really undependable, but I will give them all equal consideration just the same. :)
> 
> ALSO! I realized by re-reading over Shadows that I accidentally changed Cap's pocket watch from gold to silver and back like several times in the story XD So just to clarify, his watch is gold, the medic's is silver. Sorry for that detail inconsistency. 
> 
> See ya next time for, "Can-do attitude"!


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